


Eager

by stormthedarkcity



Series: The Pearl [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Aftercare, Deepthroating, Dildos, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Subspace, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Zevran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Alistair wonders what it feels like to suck a cock. Zevran is more than happy to indulge him.
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai
Series: The Pearl [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534775
Comments: 27
Kudos: 76





	Eager

**Author's Note:**

> Quick warning: the “subspace” from the tags is neither planned nor expected, although it’s all fine for all parties involved.
> 
> Also, a music rec, specifically for the subspace/aftercare parts of this fic: [ Still Space, by Satoshi Ashikawa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_8eRDmn9PI), was a writing companion 💙
> 
> If you haven’t followed my adventures over on tumblr, this fic took ages to reach your screens because I accidentally deleted most of it on January 1st... Can I get, as the kids say, an F? Anyway, I’m not gonna ramble about this for ages but I’ll never know if this is as good as the original was... Whatever the case may be, I hope you enjoy it!

Zevran pops off Alistair’s cock with a satisfied expression, collecting stray come from his chin and licking his fingers one by one. It’s entirely unnecessary for him to clean _every single one_ , but he really does look like he’s enjoying himself, and Alistair snorts fondly through the haze of his orgasm. He holds his arm out and Zevran crawls up to him, his hair a mess of knots.

His hair is always tangled after he’s sucked Alistair’s cock. Alistair keeps telling him to tie it up and keep it out of the way — he knows how much care Zevran puts into his hair — but he’s also terribly turned on by the look and feeling of it against his thighs and stomach, and Zevran must have noticed too, because he always makes sure that his hair is free when he blows him.

Alistair watches him lick his lips. He looks perfectly contented, even though he’s not the one who just came.

“Do you really like it?” Alistair asks.

Zevran rolls to the side to look at him. There’s laughter in his eyes. There’s always laughter in his eyes when he’s in that mood.

“Alistair, _Caro_ , you will have to be more precise. Do I like seeing you naked in my bed? Do I like making you beg to come? Do I like sucking your cock? Do I—”

“Last one! Last one.”

Zevran smiles slyly. “Yes. Why are you asking? Do _you_ not like it?” He looks so smug as he says that, so certain of the answer, that Alistair can’t help but laugh.

“You know I love it,” he whispers. “Maker, Zevran, your mouth—”

He can’t finish his sentence, because Zevran is kissing him half-way through it, muffling his words with a sharp tug at his lip with clever teeth. His mouth tastes of Alistair. The bittersweetness of his own come is right there on his tongue, and he chases it shamelessly.

It’s Zevran who breaks up the kiss, as Alistair is panting under him. He doesn’t move far back, though, just stares at him with curiosity, and his eyebrows pull together as he thinks.

“Sucking someone’s cock can be very gratifying, I assure you. Now,” he adds nonchalantly, his breath warm on Alistair’s lips, “if you wish to try such a thing for yourself, I would be glad to wear something _nice_ for you.”

Alistair whines. He meant to give a more eloquent answer, but he really, really can’t find anything better right now. He watches Zevran as he lays back down on the bed and rests his head on Alistair’s extended arm. He bites his lip and sighs sharply.

“Zevran, I—” He pauses and closes his eyes. He has to fight the urge to spring out of the bed and pace around the room. “I feel like— I mean, everything we’re doing, I love it, but. Well. I always get more out of it than you, don’t I? I think. I don’t want you to be… I don’t know. Unsatisfied. Or something.”

Zevran slowly lifts himself up until he’s resting his weight on his own elbow, rather that Alistair’s arm. He’s frowning.

“I am a big boy, Alistair, I know how to take my pleasure in my own hands.” He pauses as his lips quirk up in a small smile. “The pun was not intended.” He inclines his head, and his face gets very serious. “Here is something else, then: I promise I would tell you if I was not having fun during our little, ah, play times, shall we say. Will that do?”

Alistair nods slowly, and he feels his body relax. Zevran smirks.

“Besides, who said strap-ons were not fun for the person wearing them? Not all of them actually require… strapping, you know. That _is_ rather counterintuitive, to be fair,” he adds after a pause. “As enjoyable as the mere act of wearing a dildo over one’s parts can be, there are also other options.”

Alistair sits up and frowns. He really should be able to picture it, but he can’t figure out how such a toy would work. “I don’t get it.”

Zevran pouts briefly, and then he clicks his fingers and hops down from the bed. He opens his wardrobe to rummage through his box of toys, before finally returning with one of them, triumphant. He leaves it on the bed in front of Alistair’s crossed legs as he climbs back up on it.

Alistair picks it up to examine it. It’s a pastel blue dildo, slightly smaller than his own cock, made of a soft rubbery material. At the base of it, where most of Zevran’s dildos are flared, it veers upward in a bulbous shape. There’s hard ridges where the two curves meet, and it’s when Alistair swipe a thumb over them and is hit by the mental image of a clit rubbing right there that it clicks into place.

“Oh,” he breathes. “So you— You put this part inside of you?”

He closes his fist around the curved part to illustrate his point, and, despite having done far more intimate things with Zevran than merely touching something that has been inside of him, he can’t help the heat in his cheeks. He forces his hand to stay wrapped around the toy as he keeps musing about it.

“Doesn’t it, I don’t know… Fall out?”

Zevran chuckles. “Well, it all depends on the activity. It also depends on one’s muscles.”

“Muscles?”

Zevran lifts up a hand and squeezes his biceps appreciatively, barely holding back a smile.

“Well, those arms of yours might be quite the heartbreakers, and I would never dare dismiss their mightiness in any way; but in this particular scenario I do believe I am in possession of the most _relevant_ muscles.”

Alistair squirms as understanding dawns on him.

“Oh. Lucky for me that you’re so, uh, muscular, then.”

“Lucky for the both of us,” Zevran emphasises, and he waves a hand. “Well, lucky for you, good job to me, I suppose.”

He then clicks his tongue, and his smile does that thing where it twitches in place and then hides again, like every time he’s about to make Alistair feel very warm and very in love.

“And for the record, _Cariño_ ,” he says, “the answer would have been yes for all three statements.”

“Hmm?” Alistair puts the dildo down by his side.

“ _Yes_ , I like seeing you naked in my bed.” He crawls up to Alistair, pushing him back down as he climbs on top of him. “ _Yes_ , I like making you beg to come.” He inclines his head, considering. “I like it when you make that _sound_ , too…”

Alistair swallows. He holds Zevran’s hips and smiles. “What sound?”

Zevran leans closer to him; he snakes a hand in his hair, grabs a fistful, and firmly tugs his head to the side. Alistair chokes on a moan. Zevran chuckles darkly in his ear.

“ _That_ sound. It would be even prettier around my cock, no?”

* * *

So that’s how, several days later, he finds himself naked in Zevran’s room, eyes flickering between the blue dildo on the bed and Zevran – also in the nude – walking around the room. He ended up agreeing when Zevran said he’s take charge; it’s so much easier when he doesn’t have to make important decisions.

Zevran walks back around the bed with a pillow, which he places an arm’s length away from the nearby wall. He turns his gaze toward Alistair as he gestures at it.

“Kneel for me, _Cielito_. Back to the wall.”

It’s not a question. It’s soft and firm, and Alistair obeys without missing a beat. The plush pillow is welcome between his knees and the hard wooden floor.

Zevran squats in front of him, so Alistair sits back on his heels to level with him. Zevran’s eyes are focused and clear, so close they’re a little blurry; he grips Alistair’s hair firmly and kisses him, teeth and tongue and heat, and then he’s gone far too soon, leaving the both of them breathless. He brings up a hand to Alistair’s lips and follows them, the pad of his thumb gliding on the dampness covering his bottom lip and then the top one. Alistair’s heart is already beating slow and strong in his chest.

Zevran stands, forcing Alistair to crane his neck to follow the touch on his lips.

“Open,” he orders.

Alistair obeys. The thumb slides past his lips.

“Wider.”

The thumb presses down on his tongue as the rest of Zevran’s hand holds his jaw firmly. His hand is small but self-assured, and Alistair swallows instinctively against the hold.

“Good boy,” Zevran murmurs.

Alistair feels his cheeks heat up at the soft praise. He tries to move forward, take more of the finger in his mouth, but Zevran takes it back with a neutral expression.

“Do not move unless I move you, yes? I will take care of things, just like I said I would.”

Alistair is nothing if not a good student, so he remains still as Zevran goes to the bed and comes back with the pastel blue dildo. He stands squarely in front of Alistair — so close that Alistair can _smell_ him — as he spreads his legs and slowly slips the top part of it into himself. He tugs it upward, once, and Alistair’s heart skips a beat at the low sound Zevran makes when it rubs against his clit — contained need, and eagerness, and just the slightest note of self-satisfaction.

Zevran brings a hand to Alistair’s face again, sliding his thumb in his mouth without needing to issue any instruction.

He smiles briefly, and then his features get serious and his tone sharp. “Listen, Alistair, this is important. You will not always be able to speak. If you wish to stop, you must grab my leg and squeeze it twice, yes?” Alistair blinks pointedly, hoping to get his comprehension through, and then the thumb is gone from his mouth.

The cock hovers near Alistair’s face. He feels his mouth water, and then his face heat up in reaction. He looks up at Zevran. He’s smiling down at him, so very sweet and so very heavenly, and Alistair’s mouth falls open despite himself.

“Eager,” Zevran murmurs. He cups Alistair’s jaw, thumb swiping over his cheek.

It’s terribly hard not to move, but he doesn’t, even when Zevran holds the base of the cock with his free hand and rests the head of it on the edge of his bottom lip.

He breathes. In, out. He is nothing if not a good student.

And then Zevran thrusts forward ever-so-slowly, pushing the cock into his mouth. It’s cold and smooth on his tongue. Strange and so very wanted. Alistair is distantly grateful that this cock doesn’t have any nerve endings when he notices his teeth grazing the surface, but he still takes care to hide them behind his teeth. Above him, Zevran says something approving, but Alistair isn’t quite sure what; he’s too focused on his task to make out any words.

 _This is nice_ , Alistair finds himself surprised to think. Not just Zevran’s already ragged breathing above him, nor just the knowledge that he’s causing it, but _this_. The cock sliding on his tongue, rubbing against his lips, filling his mouth so perfectly. He experiments with suction, letting Zevran move in and out of him in shallow thrusts accompanied by noisy, shuddering breaths.

He doesn’t hold the cock anymore, just rolls his hips with each of his thrusts, rubbing himself onto those ridges imprinted on the curve of the toy. He’s leaning forward, one hand holding himself up against the wall, the other loosely cupping Alistair’s face.

Watching Zevran’s swollen clit appear and disappear with each movement probably makes Alistair look a bit cross-eyed, but he doubts he’s be able to stop if he tried.

Zevran’s only sounds are soft grunts and the occasional low encouragement whose exact wording is lost on Alistair, until he asks, louder but shaky, “do you think you can take me further? In your throat?”

Alistair’s body protests painfully at the idea, but his heartbeat quickens at the same time, and it has nothing to do with panic. Zevran slides entirely out of him, cock covered in thick saliva. It’s such a perfectly obscene sight. Alistair pants for a few seconds as he catches his breath. Above him, Zevran waits patiently for an answer.

“I want to try.” Alistair finally says, his voice rough.

“Breathe,” Zevran advises, and then his cock is there again, except this time it slides further in, up until it presses against the back of Alistair’s mouth.

Alistair gags against it, tears prickling his eyes until he has to close them, and the cock pulls back out.

“Again. Please,” Alistair says.

Zevran does it again, and this time Alistair keeps his eyes open, although he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at. It’s such a strange feeling, but he knows he wants more. He wants to be good. He counts to three before he chokes.

“Again.”

He counts to six. The next time, to twelve.

“In. In.” His voice is croaky. “I want to try.”

It sounds like begging. Maybe it is. He wants it so bad his hands are shaking on his lap.

This time, when Zevran reaches the back of his mouth he doesn’t stop; he keeps on pushing, slow but firm, until the cock slides into his throat.

Alistair fights his gag reflex, once, twice, and then not at all, and Alistair feels himself lose his grip on reality.

Zevran holds him there, between two heartbeats, between two planes of existence, for an instant or maybe for hours, Alistair couldn’t tell. And then Zevran slides back out and releases him into reality again, just like that; but it’s a reality that’s a little hazy, softer around the edges. The hand on his cheek caresses his skin.

“Breathe.”

Alistair obeys, albeit shakily. Once, twice, deep, and then Zevran is pushing in again, and Alistair would have hissed an encouragement if his mouth was free.

The cock slides into his throat much more easily this time, even though his gag reflex tries to rebel against the intrusion, just once; and it’s as perfect as the first time, just as surreal and so very good.

Zevran pulls back out. He sets a rhythm, lets him breathe regularly, talks him through it, and Alistair loses counts of the times he’s sent floating, higher up, further into himself, getting more deliciously lost with each push of Zevran’s cock into his throat.

The hand on his cheek is trembling. It slides to the back of his head and clutches at him. The cock pulls back out fully, and Zevran’s voice rises from between his panting, rough and rushed: “Alistair. Alistair. Will you give me your tongue to grind upon?”

_Yes. Yes._

Alistair presents his tongue out obediently, and lets his head be tipped back by firm hands on his head and face; and then Zevran is here again, but it’s not the silicone cock, it’s him, warm and wet and desperate, and Alistair has never felt that he was in such a perfect place.

He wants this, not just for Zevran, but for himself, he wants to be there, always, feel this, always, the warmth and taste of Zevran’s come filling his mouth, the scent of him _everywhere_. He wants Zevran’s panting breath to be the only and last thing he ever hears. He’s not even certain what position Zevran is in at the moment, all he knows is that it feels so natural that he wonders why they’re not always slotted in this exact way. Zevran’s grip on Alistair’s hair tightens, fingernails digging painfully into his scalp; it’s not the kind of pain Alistair usually seeks, but he doesn’t care – there’s a hand cupping his face, caressing it, and he does care about _that_.

Zevran curls in above him as he comes; and then every touch is gone from Alistair’s body, and he slides from his own heels like a puppet without strings. For a moment it’s as though he’ll slip all the way to the floor, but then there’s a body pressed against his, a warm arm around his torso and lips at his temple, murmuring something he doesn’t understand.

" _Eres maravilloso_ , Alistair... _splendido chico_...”

There’s another hand in his hair, pushing it back gently, and the lips haven’t stopped moving, but now the voice is speaking in a language he knows.

“Do you want my hand, Alistair?” it says. “Do you want me to make you come?”

Alistair nods, and then there’s a hand on his cock, a hand that _knows_ him, that drags him back to reality stroke by stroke — not quite all the way, but far enough that he realises the broken moans he’s hearing are his own.

He comes quickly, within and between these clever fingers, and the body against his keeps its firm hold on him. It radiates warmth, forms a safe bubble around Alistair, and he lets himself float into it.

He’s shivering. Shaking, actually. He needs something, but he isn’t quite sure what. Zevran rubs his arms.

“How about a bath, _Cielito_? For the both of us.”

Alistair nods. _That’s_ what he needs. Zevran waits a little longer, and then he coaxes him to the bathroom, where he sets the tub to run before coming back down to the floor to hold him close. Alistair isn’t shaking anymore, but there’s still something a little strange about him. It’s in his chest, and in his limbs too. Like he’s… cracked open.

He doesn’t worry. He knows he won’t completely fall apart as long as Zevran’s arms remain around him.

He feels the cracks come together again later, as he’s sitting in the bath and Zevran is behind him, oh-so-gently rinsing shampoo off his short hair. Warm water is poured on his scalp; it trickles back down quietly into the bath, and then there’s a careful hand dragging his hair away from his forehead so it won’t drip onto his face.

“This is nice,” Alistair murmurs. The palm on his scalp pauses briefly, before continuing its routine.

“Welcome back, _Cielito_.”

Alistair leans into the hand at the back of his head. “Sorry, I sort of...lost focus there for a while.”

Behind him, Zevran chuckles. “Yes, that is one way of putting it.”

“Why, what happened?”

Alistair scoots around until he can face his boyfriend. His hair is only damp at the tips, and his shoulders are slumped. The soapy water reaches up to the scars on his chest. He looks tired, but it’s the exhaustion of a good fuck. He smiles weakly, eyes locked on his.

“There is this...alternate state of consciousness, which some people can reach in these contexts on occasion,” he explains.

“Does that ever happen to you?”

“Sometimes,” Zevran says, and then, “not as often as I’d like.” He chews on his bottom lip as his brow furrows. “I did not realise it might happen to you today. If I did, I would have warned you.” Alistair rubs at the back of his neck, sending soapy droplets of water to fly out of the bathtub and onto the white floor tiles.

“I, well. I certainly didn’t expect this to happen, but it wasn’t…distressing, or anything.”

“Did you enjoy it?” It’s an open question, no hint of tease in Zevran’s tone.

Alistair bites the inside of his cheek. “I trust you.” It’s not really an answer, but it’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

Zevran nods slowly, almost solemnly.

“I am honoured you let me see you like this, Caro.” He sounds choked up.

Alistair shrugs, a little uncomfortable. He watches his hands flex under the water. “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, but it is.”

Something in that serious tone makes Alistair look up again. A muscle in Zevran’s jaw moves as he squeezes it shut. He reaches underwater to grab one of Alistair’s hands between both of his, before continuing firmly, “As long as you give yourself to me in this manner, I have a duty of care. It is not a responsibility I wish to take lightly.” He pauses, considering, and his gaze slips down to the water before his shoulders square and his eyes fix on Alistair’s face again, certain and stable. He squeezes his hand. “And I wish you to know that I trust you as well, Alistair.”

It sounds important. Alistair isn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he just nods slightly and says, “thank you.”

Zevran licks his lips, and continues, voice low and slow but even:

“It does not come easy, for me, to trust someone with my feelings. With my body. No matter how much I enjoy it. It has not happened often, since my last relationship.” That is a topic of which Alistair knows the value. Zevran rarely mentions his history, unless it’s to tell a story that will make Isabela giggle and Alistair blush.

“Thank you,” he repeats, except this time he thinks he _gets_ it.

The water sloshes around them as he moves forward to wrap his arms tightly around Zevran, who startles a little at first but quickly melts in the embrace.

It’s a long hug. It has to be. This is important.

“The bath is getting cold,” Zevran grumbles, but there’s a smile in his voice.

Alistair buries his face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t care, you’re not getting out of this hug.”

**Author's Note:**

> Alistair’s love language... is sucking dick. There it is, I’ve said it, you can’t change my mind.
> 
> Make my day by spreading this fic on [tumblr](https://stormthedarkcity.tumblr.com/post/190847710573/) if you liked it 💙💙
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> I reply to comments! If however you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to add "/whisper" or "#whisper" to your comment and I'll appreciate it but not respond!  
> 


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